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“Knights don’t—”
Eric pointed at him. “Think long and hard about the next words out of your mouth. I was a knight. Your admiral was a knight.”
“I’m shite with a sword.”
Arthur sat back, the king on his throne. “Learn. Quickly.”
“Congratulations, Lancelot.” Eric reached out and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Wait! Can I pick a different name?”
“Nope,” Arthur said. “But if you come within ten feet of my wife, I’ll—”
Sophia cleared her throat.
“—let her handle it herself, because she is more than capable of doing so.”
“And she’s Italian,” Eric added. “Italian women will fuck you up. They’re crazy. The crazy ones are always good in bed, though.”
Sophia stared coldly out from the screen. Arthur looked at her askance, then nodded his agreement. Sophia’s lips twitched, as if she were fighting to hold on to the displeased expression.
He was a knight. A knight. “Do the knights get to use drones?” Charlie asked, recalling Langston’s cool toy.
Lancelot. He would have to go back to thinking of himself as Lancelot.
Arthur rolled his eyes. “If you can get that purchase request by Lorelei, more power to you.”
Lancelot grinned. Becoming a knight was an honor. More than that, it lifted a weight he hadn’t realized was there until it was gone. Now he wouldn’t have to come home to Hugo and Sylvia with blood on his hands and bruises on his soul. He could truly be a man worthy of their love.
The PA system dinged, and the flight attendant announced they would begin their descent soon.
Lancelot looked at his admiral. “May I be excused?”
“Go tell your people,” Arthur said. “And congratulations on your marriage. I’m going to go have an argument with Victoire Dubois. She will be pissed that she’s losing Hugo.”
Lancelot winced. “We hadn’t really discussed where we would live. Sylvia wants to see Paris.”
“She can see it when you help Hugo move.” That was an order. “You are a knight. Your trinity must live in your territory.”
“If Victoire gives you trouble,” Eric said to Arthur, “handle it yourself, I have enough shit to do.”
Sophia sighed. Arthur laughed. Eric closed the laptop and looked at Lancelot.
“Go tell your people you’re changing your name. Again. I will still need your help getting Alicia safely off the plane. We’ve got you, me, Marie, and Nikolas. Four people for one drugged woman is plenty, but I’m paranoid. Once we pass her off to the Spartan Guard who are meeting us with an ambulance for transport, your only job is to take care of Sylvia. You and Hugo make sure she’ll say yes when I marry you three tomorrow.”
“She’ll say yes,” Lancelot assured him.
“Good. Then go. You three can strap in up there and have a moment.” Eric’s smile dimmed. “Just because you’re a knight doesn’t mean you’re out of the fight. It just means you’re changing battlefields.”
“I understand, Fleet Admiral, and thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I mean it. You’re in love, getting married, and it doesn’t matter because your admiral and I are still going to give you orders that might get you killed. I hope—I fucking hope—that the Spartan Guard can torture some good information out of Alicia. Maybe she’ll give us a name, address, and a fucking shoe size. We swoop in and boom, it’s over by this time next week.” Eric looked at him, a bleak expression on his face. “But don’t count on it. You make every moment you have with them matter.”
Lancelot nodded once. He wouldn’t say thank you again, so instead he said, “I understand, Fleet Admiral.”
“Go.”
That was an order Lancelot, newly appointed knight of England, was more than happy to obey because he was going to be with his trinity, with the man and woman he loved.
